Sins of the Father
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: This is the story of what might have happened after the events in "Batman: Arkham City" if Harley Quinn had really been pregnant with the Joker's son, and raised him to take revenge on all the people who let his father die. Thanks to blackcat9517 for the suggestion!
1. Chapter 1

**Sins of the Father**

"You sure you wanna do it like this, Harley?" asked Rocco gently. "We can getcha to a hospital…"

"I don't want no hospitals," snapped Harley. "I'm done with hospitals. And what would they do with him there? Rip him outta me and then send him to some goddamn orphanage while they throw me back in the madhouse? No, I ain't gonna let it happen, Roc. Not to his son."

Rocco looked around at the blackened remains of the Joker shrine room. The explosion Harley had set up to destroy the Bat had taken out a lot of the Steel Mill, but this place had miraculously stayed standing. It was a little blackened, but the Joker statue was still there, smiling down at them. "But this…I mean…it's a little extreme, Harley…"

"You mean it'll hurt?" she snapped. "I'm used to pain. Mr. J taught me well."

"I mean you could die," he murmured. "And nobody wants to see that happen. First J, and now…"

"Don't you worry, Roc, I'll live," she interrupted. "I gotta live for his son. I gotta raise him to grow up just like his Daddy, to have revenge for his Daddy…"

She hissed in pain suddenly, clutching her bulging stomach. "You gotta do it now, Roc," she gasped. "Baby's coming!"

Rocco nodded as Harley lay down, spreading her legs. He grabbed some ropes and tied her hands and legs to four stakes that had been set up in the center of the room. Then he stepped back.

"Remember, no matter how I scream, don't come back in until you hear a baby crying," gasped Harley, shutting her eyes in pain.

Rocco nodded and headed for the door. "You're a helluva woman, Harley," he murmured, shutting the door.

"Gotta be, don't I?" she laughed. "For Mr. J," she breathed, fixing her eyes on the Joker statue which gazed down at her, smiling his painted smile. "For you, puddin'."

She screamed suddenly as her contractions began. She stretched and strained against the ropes, but they held firm, digging into her wrists and ankles. She screeched in pain, arching her back. It was unimaginable, unlike anything she had ever experienced before, like fire ripping through her body, severing through every nerve as the baby forced its way out. Her arms and legs were rubbed raw and bled heavily as she writhed in agony against the ropes. There was blood everywhere, her voice was hoarse from screaming, she felt like she was dying. And then she forced her watering eyes open to look at the statue of the Joker, which still smiled at her, and she fought on. "For…you, Mr. J!" she gasped. "For…you!"

She gave a last scream of agony, and then she heard the sound of a baby crying. It was out. The pain didn't stop, but it was lessened somewhat, and she was grateful for small blessings. She forced her eyes open again to see Rocco opening the door, coming over to her, and picking up a small bundle from the pool of blood.

"Lemme see him," she gasped.

He pulled out his knife and cut the umbilical cord, and then the ropes holding her arms. She managed to sit up with his help, and he placed the small, bloody thing into her arms. She beamed at it.

"He's perfect," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "My little Joker Junior."

The child kept crying, but Harley shushed him, wrapping him in a towel which Rocco handed to her. "C'mon, little J.J., don't cry," she whispered. "Your Daddy wouldn't want that. He'd want you to smile, y'see? Like Mommy's doing. Smile and laugh."

She gazed up at the statue with tears of joy running down her face. She held the baby up to it. "Look at our son, Mr. J," she whispered.

The statue continued to smile down at her and she smiled back, holding her son tenderly against her breast. "He's got your eyes, puddin'," she whispered. "Your eyes and your nose and your chin…oh, he's gonna look just like you," she whispered, stroking the baby's head. "Just as handsome as his Daddy."

She sobbed, clutching the baby tightly to her. "Thank you, Mr. J," she whispered. "Thank you for giving him to me. I didn't think I could bear to live any longer with you gone, and then…then this miracle happened. Our son will carry on his father's work. The world will never forget the Joker. Even though you're…dead, you're gonna live on."

She kissed the baby's forehead tenderly. "Oh, J.J.," she breathed. "You're gonna do such great things. Such great, terrible, funny things!"

And she threw back her head and laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Harvey Dent, otherwise known as Two-Face, lounged in his chair, smoking a cigar and staring at the painting in front of him. It was titled _The Duality of Man_, and depicted Cain carrying Abel's body after he had murdered him. Two-Face never got tired of staring at that painting. He liked the subject material, and it also brought back recollections of a similar scene twenty years ago, not Cain and Abel, but two figures just as legendary. Every newspaper had printed the picture of Batman carrying the Joker's body just like that, after the Bat had killed him.

Nothing had been the same since then. The Joker's death was a complete game-changer; suddenly every villain became more careful, more wary of the Batman, and more ruthless. If the guy had killed once, he would kill again. Two-Face had always known it was only a matter of time before the Bat snapped. No man could be moral his whole life, not when a constant war waged inside his soul. And a constant war waged inside the soul of every man, no matter how they tried to deny it. The duality of man. Good and evil.

Two-Face flipped his coin casually as he inhaled from his cigar. He was both Cain and Abel. He had been Harvey Dent, fighting for law and order, and now he was Two-Face, who killed by chance, by the will of a coin. He was a good crime lord – fair, or so he thought. And also unpredictable, which made people wary of him. That had always been the Joker's secret, unpredictability. That had been what had made him a good crime lord.

Two-Face had always respected the Joker. Oh sure, the guy had been nuts, but he had known his business. He had known how to play the game, and he had known how to get respect while doing it. That was the most important thing – respect. And that had probably been hard for a guy who looked perpetually like a clown. Yes, J had been a true great, one of the last in this town. After he had died, every pathetic wannabe supervillain had come out of the woodwork trying to take his place. And only Two-Face and the Penguin had succeeded, had remained on top, had remained a true force in Gotham.

But neither of them were getting any younger, thought Two-Face, flipping his coin again. The one thing in life that wasn't a matter of chance was death. The only uncertainty was how it was gonna happen. Heads, nice and quick, tails, slow and lingering.

Two-Face suddenly wondered how J had died at the end, how the Bat had killed him. Everyone knew Joker had been sick – had the Bat finished him off quickly, or had he made him suffer? God knows he'd have had every reason to, but that didn't seem like the Bat's style. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer – he had never killed anyone since, to Two-Face's knowledge. Maybe in the end it had been an act of mercy. Maybe J had asked the Bat to kill him. Maybe there was no cure, and maybe J wanted to die that way. To be killed by the only man J ever respected. Maybe the only person J ever loved. He certainly never loved that broad of his. Two-Face idly wondered what had happened to her. She had probably killed herself or something. Harley Quinn had been insanely devoted to the Joker – she probably didn't have the strength to carry on after he died. Anyway, nobody had heard from her since she went on that rampage shortly after J died and kidnapped some cops, only to be stopped by the Bat. She was probably gone, just like everyone else.

Two-Face rose with difficulty and went to go stoke the fire. He leaned on his cane, wincing. He felt older than he was – crime tended to suck life outta you quicker than any other profession. Maybe J knew that. Maybe that was why he had ended the game when he had. Things hadn't been the same for a long time. Back in the good old days, when J was alive, when he and Two-Face and Penguin were all competing to own Arkham City, those had been the days. Well, despite the fact that the bitch Catwoman had disfigured the good half of his face, he thought, running a hand down it. He had a heard a rumor that someone had shot her in the head and left her body dumped in an alley. He hoped it was true. Fitting end for a filthy piece of trash.

And there had been some good times before that, too, in Arkham Asylum, when they were all much younger. When the crime game was still fun. It wasn't fun anymore. And it was a young man's game. Two-Face was feeling too old for it.

He hobbled back to his chair. He didn't have an heir – he didn't have anyone to leave his business to, such as it was. And frankly, that didn't seem to matter anymore. Material things became less important as you got older – the game seemed less important. Two-Face could feel himself slipping in the criminal racket, and he wasn't sure he cared. He didn't care about much of anything.

No, everything had been all wrong since J died, he thought, fixing his eyes on the picture again. Like a balance had been thrown off, like life didn't make as much sense. J had always used to jokingly claim that if the Joker died, the world wouldn't be fun anymore. And strangely, he had been right.

Nobody could believe J was dead after it happened – even people who had seen the body weren't sure that it was him. Everyone kept expecting him to somehow miraculously return. It wasn't just the fact that the manner of his death was so uncertain and unbelievable – it was the fact that the Joker always came back. And for the first few years, everyone had believed he would, including Two-Face. But at the years passed, the hope grew less, until Two-Face was sure not even his loyal dame, if she was still alive, believed it anymore. But it was a shame, he thought, gazing at the painting. A damn shame. There had only been one Joker. And even after all these years, Two-Face kept secretly expecting to hear his insane voice laughing at him from the shadows.

"Penny for your thoughts, Harvey? Or should that be a quarter?" murmured a strange voice. Strange and yet…somehow familiar. He recognized it as he would a hazy dream, something he knew well, and yet was bizarre to hear.

"Who's…there?" stammered Two-Face, looking around. The light from the fire left most of the room shrouded in darkness.

"Just an old friend come to say hello," continued the voice. "I just let myself in – you don't mind, do you? I would have knocked, but I'd hate to make you get up. They should probably call you Three-Legs instead of Two-Face now, shouldn't they, Harv?"

And the voice laughed. Two-Face knew that laugh, impossible as it was to believe it. "J?" he gasped. "J…it can't be you!"

"Oh, but it is, Harvey," murmured the voice. "Double the Js and double the fun! Just your kinda gag."

"Are you a ghost?" gasped Two-Face.

"Don't believe in ghosts myself," chuckled the voice. "No, you haven't figured out the joke yet, Harvey. I'll give you another hint."

A figure suddenly stepped into the light from the fire, and Two-Face saw…the Joker.

He was dressed just the same, and looked just the same. Only…there was something slightly different about the face, and the build wasn't…exactly similar. He looked much younger. It was J…but it wasn't J. And then the realization struck him.

"J…had a kid?" he gasped.

"Correctamundo!" he giggled. "Call me J.J. Nice to meet you, Harvey."

He extended his hand. Two-Face was about to shake it, but suddenly noticed the joy buzzer. "Same old trick as your Dad," he muttered, nodding.

"An oldie but goodie," agreed J.J., grinning the Joker's grin. "Just like you, old timer! My mother's told me so much about you."

"Your mother?" repeated Two-Face. "Is Harley alive?"

"Oh yes, she's very well, thank you for asking," said J.J., pulling up a chair next to him. "Talks about you a lot. You and Pengers and Ivy and Scarecrow and all the old gang. But you can imagine who she talks about the most," he said, smiling. "Dear old Dad. She's brought me up to be just like him, you see. Made me in his image as much as she could. The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son, and all that!" he chuckled.

"What are you doing here?" asked Two-Face quietly.

"Just wanted to see some of the old gang while I still can," said J.J., grinning. "Talk to them before their time runs out, like it did for my father, so prematurely. Mommy never stops talking about it, you know, how the Bat killed him. She never stops wanting revenge on him. And she's raised me to accomplish just that."

"You're gonna kill the Bat?" asked Two-Face.

"Eventually," agreed J.J. "But you see, Harvey, I'm suffering the same conundrum as my father. If I kill the Bat, I'll have no purpose left. For my mother has told me that my sole purpose in life is to destroy him. Once that's accomplished, what's left for me? How's a guy supposed to have any fun?"

"You're asking me?" demanded Two-Face. "I was never the fun one, that was your Dad."

"Yes. Really funny guy, wasn't he?" asked J.J., quietly. "You can't imagine what it's like having to live up to someone like that. Someone who has become a legend. Because nobody can ever live up to a legend. Legends are unreal, unattainable, fake. And living your life to equal someone who's unattainable, well, that's quite the joke now, isn't it, Harv?" he chuckled.

"What do you want?" asked Two-Face.

"I want to hear about my father," murmured J.J. "The only things my mother has told me about him are how wonderful he was, how amazing, how he was so much better than everyone else, a genius. I want to hear another perspective."

Two-Face shrugged. "He was a genius," he agreed. "Completely nuts, but a genius. He could plan an operation like no one else. I'm sure you've heard all about the time he took over Arkham Island…"

"Only to be thwarted at the last minute by the dastardly old Batman," finished J.J., nodding. "Yes, I've heard that story many times. It was the beginning of the end for dear old Dad, although he didn't know it then."

He stood up. "Mommy's told me all about his slow decline, once the Titan took hold. How he became weaker and weaker, but still fought on. But everyone in my family is a fighter," he murmured. "How he almost had a cure, almost had the Bat…and then how it all went wrong."

"How did it all go wrong?" asked Two-Face gently.

"She doesn't know," he murmured. "Nobody knows how my father died. They only know that Batman had something to do with it. And so he must die."

He reached into his jacket. "Mommy has named me judge, jury, and executioner," he murmured. "For the Bat, and for anyone else she thinks is responsible. She's raised me to be his revenge on everyone who she thinks let him die. The world, essentially," he laughed, turning back to Two-Face with his gun drawn.

Two-Face stared down the barrel of the gun. "She thinks it's my fault?" he murmured.

"Oh, nothing personal, Harvey, but you did try to distract the Bat from getting my father's cure with your silly little gang war with Penguin," said J.J., quietly. "If he hadn't taken so long fighting you and him, he might have been able to reach my father in time. I have to do what Mommy says – I don't have a choice. If it were up to me, I'd rather not kill you. But it's not up to me, you see," he added, with a strange grin. "It's up to him. He controls everything. He's dead, and he still controls everything. Quite the joke, eh, Harvey? Why don't you laugh?" he murmured.

Two-Face nodded. "I don't mind dying, J.J.," he murmured. "Just make it quick, will ya? Bullet to the head?"

"Of course, Harvey," said J.J., nodding. "The slow and lingering death is reserved for the likes of the Bat. And for friendship's sake, it's the least I can do."

"Thanks," said Two-Face. "It was nice meeting you, kid. Good to see J again, even if you ain't really him. You say hi to your Mom for me."

"I will," said J.J., cocking his gun. "Any other last words?"

"Just one thing," said Two-Face, nodding. He looked into J.J.'s eyes. "Your father was a genius. He was also a monster. A cruel, heartless, unfeeling, callous, evil man. He used to hit your mother and laugh. He thought it was funny to beat up a woman who adored him. If that's the man you wanna be like, J.J., so be it. It's your choice. We all have a choice in life, y'see," he said, pulling out his coin. He held it out to him. "You take this to remember me by. It's my most prized possession. I want you to have it."

"You're giving me…your coin?" stammered J.J., confused as he took it from him. "I don't understand…"

"It's simple," said Two-Face, nodding at it. "It's life. There's a good side and a bad side. Sometimes we can't choose our sides, so we let fate decide if we're good or bad. We flip a coin. That's what I always did. But maybe that wasn't the best way to live. I dunno. I ain't gonna waste my last few seconds of life being philosophical."

"What are you gonna do?" asked J.J., quietly.

Two-Face smiled, and then leaned back, shutting his eyes. "Remember dames."

J.J. laughed. "Thank you, Harvey," he whispered. "Goodbye."

The sound of the gunshot alerted the henchmen, who raced into the room to see Two-Face slumped in his chair, with a _bang _flag embedded in his head. They looked to the window to see a figure climbing out of the room. "Spread the word, guys! Joker's back in town!" chuckled an insane voice, and then it started laughing. The henchmen could only gaze in horror as the figure leaped from the window, and the Joker's laugh echoed off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Aw, you did so good, baby!" exclaimed Harley Quinn, reading the newspaper and beaming. The front page headline read _Return of the Joker? _and sported a picture of Two-Face's dead body, complete with _bang _flag. "_Eyewitnesses report a suspect fleeing the scene resembling the Joker, but could not positively identify him. They did, however, swear that they heard his signature laugh. While officials assure the public that the Joker is, in fact, dead, and his body cremated, there has already been widespread panic and speculation that the Clown Prince of Crime has not yet had his last laugh._"

Harley giggled uncontrollably, and then went over to J.J., who was seated in the corner of the room, flipping Two-Face's coin and lost in thought. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, covering his face with kisses.

"You hear me, baby?" she whispered, stroking his hair back. "You did good."

He nodded. "I'm glad you're happy, Mommy."

"I am, J.J.," she whispered, grinning. "For the first time in a long time, I'm happy."

She kissed him again, and then went over to find a pair of scissors to cut out the headline. J.J. continued to flip the coin and stare at nothing. "You ok, baby?" asked Harley. "You seem sad. And you know Mommy doesn't like it when you don't smile. Your Daddy was always smiling."

"I'm just thinking, Mommy," he murmured.

"Your Daddy would smile when he thought," replied Harley.

"I'm not my Daddy, Mommy," whispered J.J.

"No," agreed Harley. "But you look just like him," she murmured, gazing at him with tears in her eyes. "And you've already got the makings of a great criminal, just like him. You're gonna make this whole town pay for him, baby. And then you're gonna rule this town, just like he should've."

J.J. sighed. "Yes, Mommy," he murmured.

She studied him. "You _are_ sad, baby," she whispered, coming back over to him. She stroked his hair back again and then took his hand. "Tell Mommy what's wrong," she murmured, looking him in the eyes. "And she'll make it all better. Nothing's gonna upset my baby, you hear me?"

"Just…something Harvey said," whispered J.J.

"What did he say?" she asked. "Did he make up some lies about your Daddy because he was trying to get you to spare his life?"

"No…no, he died like a man," replied J.J. "No begging or anything. He just said…" He met her eyes. "Did Daddy used to hit you?" he asked.

Harley's mouth tightened. "Only when I deserved it," she murmured.

"And when was that?" asked J.J.

"When I failed him," she retorted. "Nobody failed your Daddy without being punished. Not even me."

"He loved you, Mommy," he murmured. "He shouldn't have hit you. You were his wife."

She nodded. "Yeah. As good as."

He stared at her. "You weren't married?" he asked.

"It didn't matter, J.J., you don't understand," she replied. "You're still so young and innocent…"

"I killed a guy, Mommy," he muttered. "I ain't innocent."

Harley sighed. "Nobody could ever understand your Daddy and me," she murmured. "Not even me sometimes. I certainly can't explain it to you. I just know that he loved me. You know how you just know things, deep down?"

J.J. nodded. "That's how I know he loved me," she whispered. She took his face in her hands. "And he would have loved you too," she murmured. "He would have been a good Daddy to you, if the Bat hadn't killed him. When I told your Daddy that I was gonna have you, you should have seen his face. I…I ain't never seen him so happy."

Tears rose to her eyes and she started crying. It broke J.J.'s heart to see her cry, even though that was his earliest memory of her. She had tried to hide her sadness from him, but he remembered when he was a little boy, sneaking into her room and finding her sobbing on the bed. There was nothing more terrible to a child than seeing its mother cry. And it didn't get any better with age.

He embraced her, kissing the top of her head tenderly. "Please don't cry, Mommy," he whispered.

"He would have loved you so much," she whispered. "But he never got to see his baby. The Bat killed him. You gotta make him pay, J.J. You gotta get revenge for your Daddy."

"I will, Mommy, I swear," he whispered. "Please don't cry anymore."

She nodded and tried to stop. He wiped the tears from her eyes carefully. She smiled. "Nice of Harvey to give you his coin," she said, nodding at it.

"Yes. I liked Harvey," he murmured.

"Aw, baby, so did I," said Harley. "But he failed your Daddy, you see? And when people fail the Joker, they gotta be punished. No exceptions. That's what your Daddy always thought."

"And…he was right about that?" asked J.J. hesitantly.

Harley looked at him. "Your Daddy was always right," she said firmly. "Always."

"I could never hit you, Mommy," he whispered.

She smiled. "Well, you ain't your Daddy," she whispered. "Not quite."

She ruffled his hair fondly. "Now where are we gonna hang this headline, baby?" she asked, looking around the Joker shrine room. It was covered from floor to ceiling in pictures, headlines, and memorabilia relating to the Joker and his crimes, and the Joker statue still stood on the far wall, smiling down at them both. "There's gotta be room somewhere…"

She found an empty patch over by the door and taped the headline to it. "_Return of the Joker_," she repeated, reading it and beaming. "I like the sound of that, baby."

"Yeah, me too," agreed J.J. He stood up, flipping the coin into his pocket. "I'm tired, Mommy. Ok if I go to bed?"

"Of course, baby, you've had a long day," said Harley, kissing his cheek. "You get a good night's rest. I'm so proud of you, J.J.," she whispered, smiling at him.

He kissed her forehead tenderly. "I love you, Mommy," he whispered. "Goodnight."

He headed for the door to his room. "You gonna say goodnight to your Daddy?" asked Harley.

J.J. sighed, and faced the Joker statue. "Goodnight, Daddy," he muttered. "I love you."

He opened the door to his room, entered, and shut it, leaning against it and closing his eyes. "I love you, Daddy," he repeated angrily. He opened his eyes and looked at his room, covered with the same pictures and articles about his father. His face smiled back at him from every inch of the wall. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

For a long time, J.J. had treasured the memory of his father, loving him and revering him as his mother always had. But as he had grown older and understood what his father truly was, and what he had done…well, it was difficult to feel total and complete love for a psychotic maniac, even if you were his flesh and blood.

He had tried, for his mother's sake. She still adored his father, even after all this time, and he had tried to feel the same way about him. But he couldn't. Some of the things his father had done had seemed downright cruel. J.J. understood his father's contempt for the police, for normal people, but…to hit his mother…

J.J. sighed, sitting down on the bed and burying his face in his hands. His father had been insane, which did excuse a lot of what he had done. There was no shame in insanity, and J.J. often wished that he had inherited that from him, so that he wouldn't feel things like conscience and guilt. But he was too much like his mother in that respect. He had a heart. But his heart didn't belong to his father. That was the problem.

For his mother's sake, he tried to be just like him. He knew that would make her happy, that would make her smile and laugh, and prevent her from crying. He would continue to try to be like his father, and get revenge for him, because that was what she wanted. And he wanted to see her happy.

He looked up into the face of his father, smiling out from one of the pictures. Deep down he hated that grinning clown face, so like his own. He hated himself when he made_ his_ jokes, and smiled _his_ smile, and laughed _his_ laugh. He wanted his mother to love him for his own sake, not because of his resemblance to his father. He hated having to be like him, to have no free will of his own, to play a character he hadn't chosen, an evil character…

He pulled out the coin again. But he didn't have a choice. He was just like Harvey, a victim of fate and circumstance. Heads, he could become the Joker, an evil monster, and make his mother happy. Or tails, he could choose to be his own man, maybe a good man, and break his mother's heart. His heart couldn't tell him which was the good choice and which was the bad.

He flipped the coin into the air and caught it. "Heads," he sighed. "Well, that settles it."

He undressed and climbed into bed. His eyes met the Joker's, smiling out at him from the pictures on the wall. He smiled back and flicked off the lamp. "Goodnight, Daddy," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

"We've doubled the security all around the building, Mr. Cobblepot. Nobody is getting in or out of here."

"Triple it. I want to be sure, you understand?!"

The henchman sighed. "Yes, sir," he muttered, hanging up the radio. "Jesus Christ, why don't you hurry up and die, you paranoid old bastard?"

"I dunno how he thinks we're gonna keep a ghost out," muttered another henchman.

"You think that's what it is?" asked another. "The Joker's ghost?"

"Well, unless he's like a clone or a robot. I've heard they can do all kinds of things with technology these days."

"C'mon, it's clearly just some nut copying him," said another henchmen. "There were all kindsa copycats right after he died, remember? All just a bunch of pathetic losers. This guy just got lucky enough to kill Two-Face, but he was losing his edge anyway."

"Yeah, but I heard from Joe who heard from Jerry who heard from Dan who was in Two-Face's gang that they actually heard J's laugh."

"So the nut has a tape recorder. Obviously just recorded his laugh from some archive footage and plays it so dummies think it's the real Joker back from the dead. Parlor trick."

"I dunno, man. This whole thing's got me spooked."

"Yeah, and you ain't the only one," muttered the guard as his radio flashed again. "Yes, Mr. Cobblepot, sir?"

"Did you triple the guard?"

"Yes, sir, we're just doing that now."

"Well, hurry up about it! I still feel like a sitting duck here!"

"Maybe you oughta put garlic on the windows too to keep the vampires out," muttered one of the henchmen.

"What was that?" demanded Penguin.

"Just Ed saying that he's sending more guys round the back, sir," said the first henchman, glaring at the other.

"Now you bunch of birdbrains listen to me!" hissed Penguin. "This is no joke, do you understand me?! This guy, whoever he is, is out for my blood! I know he is! Do not let him get to me, do you understand?!"

"Good evening, gentlemen." Penguin suddenly heard a strange yet familiar voice over the radio. "Lovely night. Nothing like letting the crisp, night air into your lungs to make you feel alive, eh?"

Penguin suddenly heard a hiss, like a release of gas, and then shouts of wild, hysterical, dying laughter from his henchmen. "Whoops! Did I say alive? Silly me! I meant the opposite one!" giggled the voice, and then it laughed. Penguin knew that laugh, and he threw the radio across the room in terror, where it shattered.

"No!" he gasped. "No! No, no, no! It can't be!"

He was huddled in the dark in a small, windowless room in his hideout. Not that Penguin noticed the difference much these days – the piece of the glass bottle that had been embedded in his eye had broken up over time, and shards of the glass had worked their way into his eyeball. He was totally blind in that eye, and partially blind in the other, only able to make out the outlines of dim forms. His aim with a gun was practically non-existent, but that didn't stop him from seizing a machine gun and curling up in the corner, his one working eye darting from shadow to shadow in terror. "He's not taking me without a fight," he hissed. "You hear me, J?!" he shouted. "You're not taking me without a fight!"

"No need to shout, Pengers, I'm right here," chuckled a voice from somewhere in the darkness. Penguin cried out in horror and began firing the machine gun randomly, spraying the room with bullets.

"You keep away from me!" shouted Penguin, terrified.

"Aw, what's wrong, Pengers?" laughed the voice. "Scared of the dark? And the Joker said let there be light!"

A match was suddenly struck, and Penguin pulled the trigger to fire at the blur of light, but his gun was empty. He threw down the machine gun with a cry of annoyance, and looked up to see the face of the Joker, illuminated by the match, and lighting the cigar between his lips.

"Wanna cigar, for old time's sake?" he chuckled, holding one out to him. "I promise you they don't explode."

Penguin batted it away. "Aw, Pengers, doncha trust me?" he chuckled.

"It's not possible," gasped Penguin. "You're dead."

He grabbed his umbrella and began firing bullets randomly in the direction of the figure. They were wide off the mark. "You're dead! You're dead! You can't be here, you're dead!"

"Then why do you keep trying to shoot me?" the figure laughed. "Can't kill what's already dead, you know. That doesn't make any sense. Geez, Pengers, maybe you did belong in Arkham Asylum with the rest of the crazies after all."

Penguin threw down the umbrella with a sob. "J…J…please, I dunno how you're back, but please…you don't wanna kill me! I didn't do anything to you…"

"That's not how I remember it, Pengers," chuckled the figure. "I remember you and I in the middle of some rather nasty gang war back in Arkham City. Now, how did it start? Oh yes, before Arkham City even existed, back in the good old days, that clumsy waiter of yours spilled a drink on me at the debut of your precious Iceberg Lounge, so I was forced to terminate her existence with a dose of acid to the face. Which you interpreted as stealing your thunder. You tried to kill me and Harley. And of course once you started the party, we had to return the favor! All because of the clumsiness of a little waiter. Kinda makes you wanna laugh, huh?"

"It…it was a long time ago…J," stammered Penguin. "Forgive and forget…"

"Hmm…maybe you're right," said the figure, nodding and puffing on his cigar thoughtfully. "Maybe it all did get just a little out of hand. Aw, Pengers, nobody can make a mountain outta a molehill like you!" he chuckled, slapping him on the back. "But you're right! It's in the past – let it go! Past is dead, right? And the dead can't come back, can they?"

"N…no," stammered Penguin.

"No," agreed the figure. "And y'know, I've always thought it best in these situations to let sleeping dogs lie."

He patted him on the back again. "Well, I'll be seeing ya, Pengers! Not that you'll be able to see me, though! Toodles!" he chuckled, heading for the door.

He suddenly snapped his fingers and turned around. "Oh, wait! Let sleeping dogs lie…that reminds me. You did do something else to me besides hire a clumsy waiter."

"I…I did?" stammered Penguin, suddenly terrified.

"Yeah. You may not remember them, but Harley sure does. Do the names Bud and Lou mean anything to ya, Pengers?"

"N…no," he said.

"Aw, that's because you never asked me what the names of my pets were," chuckled the figure.

"Pets?" repeated Penguin. And his good eye widened in horror. "No. Oh no, J, you gotta understand, it was just business…"

"Harley didn't consider the death of our babies to be just business," murmured the figure, quietly. "She was real upset, Pengers."

"J, I'm sorry…it was a long time ago…we were in a war…they were just casualties…just hyenas…I'll do anything to make it up to you…"

"Anything?" repeated the figure, smiling at him. "Well…ok! How about this?" he said, approaching him. "How about you die slowly as I hang you like the dog you are, and then leave you smiling for all the world to see? Does that seem fair, Pengers?"

Penguin sobbed. "No, J, please…"

But he was cut off by a noose tightening around his throat. He fought wildly as the figure threw the rope over a beam in the ceiling and then pulled it slowly up. Penguin kicked and struggled, fighting to breathe.

"Let's hear the birdie squawk his last, Pengers!" laughed the figure. His laughter grew more hysterical as Penguin's struggles became more frantic, and finally ceased altogether. The figure lowered the body, still chuckling madly to himself, and withdrew a red marker pen…

When the police officers found the body the next morning, two of them were physically sick at the sight of the Penguin's face, bloated and purple, tongue protruding, but with a smile drawn on in red pen. And on the forehead were written the words_: Penguins can't fly, but their dancing on air sure brought a smile to my face! HA HA HA! – J. _


	5. Chapter 5

"Look what he's done, Mr. J," breathed Harley, holding up the newspaper proclaiming the Penguin's death to the Joker statue's face. "Look what our son has done."

She was beaming from ear to ear. "Ain't you proud of him, puddin'?" she whispered. "It's exactly what you would have done, isn't it? It's exactly like you've come back. After all these years, you've come back," she whispered, reaching out a hand to touch the statue's wooden face.

"Twenty years of missing you, puddin'," she whispered. "Twenty years and it still hurts as much as it did at the moment I saw the Bat carry out your body and realized what that meant. It doesn't get any easier with time. People…people say it does, but people lie about a lotta things, you know. Or maybe they just never loved like I love you."

She shut her eyes tightly, letting her tears fall. "Twenty years I've been living without my heart. Nobody knows what's that like, to be alive, to be breathing, but not to feel…anything. Except when I'm around J.J. I remember what it's like to love someone through him. He's such a good boy, and he's done you so proud, puddin'," she murmured. "And soon it'll be the Bat's turn. I'm going with him on that one, to see the Bat's face, unmasked and afraid, just like…just like you were at the end, puddin'."

She leaned her forehead against his painted face. "But you weren't, were you?" she whispered. "You weren't afraid of anything. I bet you laughed as you died. I saw your smile on your lifeless body. I bet you told some great, final joke. Tell me what it is, puddin'," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Tell me the reason you died. Let me in on the joke. Make me laugh again."

"Mommy, are you ok?" said a voice. Harley straightened up, wiping her eyes.

"Yeah…fine, J.J.," she said, turning to him and smiling. "Really happy, actually. Saw the job you did on the Penguin," she said, holding up the paper. "Great work, baby."

"He died begging for his life," muttered J.J., entering the room flipping Two-Face's coin. "Pathetic."

"He was always pathetic, J.J.," she said. "It was pathetic of him to try to challenge your Daddy. As if a worm like him could ever equal his greatness."

J.J. nodded but said nothing, taking a seat in his customary corner. "I liked your joke too," continued Harley, nodding at the picture of the writing on Penguin's forehead. "Just something your Daddy would have written. You even signed it as him."

"I…felt like him," whispered J.J. "I always do when I'm killing. It's not something I…like to do, Mommy," he murmured, staring at the ground. "So I…I put on his character. I act a part. And sometimes I…lose myself in the act. Sometimes I really don't remember that I'm…not him. It helps me cope with the horror of what I have to do."

"I know it doesn't seem nice to do these things, J.J.," whispered Harley. "It took me awhile after I met your Daddy to get used to killing. But once you realize how unimportant these people are, how they deserve to die for failing your Daddy, how…how funny their deaths are, then it gets easier."

"I don't laugh when I think about their deaths," replied J.J.

"That's because you don't get how much of a joke their lives were," murmured Harley. "You weren't there, J.J., and it's the kinda comedy you had to be there for. Doesn't have the same impact if you just explain the joke. And your Daddy told me never to do that anyway."

J.J. looked at her. "If you tell me to do something, I will do it, Mommy," he murmured. "I love you. And I wanna see you smile. You've been so unhappy for as long as I can remember," he whispered, taking her hand. "I want so much to make you happy."

"Oh, baby, you do," she whispered, sitting down next to him and stroking his hair. "Nobody makes me happy the way you do. To know that you're avenging your Daddy at last…"

"Is that how I make you happy, Mommy?" he interrupted. "As my Daddy's vengeance?"

She studied him, and then hugged him tightly. "You're my son," she whispered. "You'll always make me happy, whatever you do."

He held her gently for some time without speaking. "This…plan for killing the Bat," he said, releasing her at last. "It seems…rather cruel."

"Yeah," agreed Harley. "He killed your Daddy. That was the cruellest thing anyone could have ever done. It's only fair that he suffers as I've suffered in the twenty years since his death. I only wish I could draw it out for twenty years so he'd know exactly how I feel."

J.J. was silent. "I must think of a good joke for it," he said. "Though perhaps I will be inspired at the time, like my Daddy was."

"Yeah, your Daddy never planned his jokes in advance," sighed Harley. "He was a genius, y'see. Real good with improv. Could just make 'em up on the spur of the moment, and they always made me laugh."

"Maybe you'll just laugh at anything," said J.J., grinning at her. "Ever tried reading the phone book?"

Harley laughed, surprised and pleased at the joke. She looked at J.J. for a moment strangely, and then suddenly seized his face in her hands and crushed her mouth into his. J.J. shoved her away, shocked and horrified.

"Mommy…what are you doing?" he gasped.

"Oh Christ…I'm sorry, J.J.," she stammered, looking equally horrified. "Sorry…so sorry…for a moment you just…you just were…him."

J.J. gazed back at her in horror, and then grew angry. He stood up and stormed away.

"J.J., wait…" she cried, rushing after him. She lay a hand on his shoulder and he seized her wrist, whirling around to face her.

"This has to stop, Mommy!" he shouted. "I am not Daddy, do you understand?! And I don't want to be Daddy! He was a monster, an evil, cruel, heartless monster…"

Harley struck him a harsh blow across the face. "Don't you dare say that about your Daddy!" she shrieked. "He was the most wonderful, handsome, perfect man in the whole world! And I will not let his son believe the lies that everyone else says about him, filthy, terrible lies…"

She broke off sobbing, and J.J.'s heart immediately melted. He hugged her tightly, kissing her hair repeatedly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Mommy, I didn't mean any of those things. Please stop crying. Please forgive me. I'm sorry."

Harley nodded and gradually stopped crying. She looked up to see tears in his own eyes. "If you don't wanna kill the Bat that way, we can change it," she whispered. "I want you to enjoy this, baby, killing the man who killed your Daddy…"

"It will be…hard for me, Mommy," he whispered. "Hard for me to live with myself. I know Penguin deserved to die, for what he did to you and Daddy, and how upset he made you for killing Bud and Lou. I thought that I would be happy to make the man who made my Mommy cry suffer. But when I remember him twitching out his last movements, unimaginable terror in his face…it doesn't make me happy. It doesn't make me sad, knowing what he did, but it doesn't make me happy. It does make me sad to think about how I killed Harvey. I know it was quick, but he didn't deserve to die, Mommy…"

"He failed your Daddy," interrupted Harley. "So he did."

"I understand that," said J.J., nodding. "But it still feels wrong."

"Aw, baby," she whispered, stroking his hair back. "Your Daddy always said feelings were for the weak. You don't wanna be weak, do ya, baby? You don't wanna disappoint your Daddy like that, do ya? And you don't wanna disappoint me. I've been waiting to kill the Bat for twenty years. It's gonna be…the second most perfect moment of my life."

"What was the first?" he asked quietly.

She smiled. "The day I found out I was pregnant with you," she whispered. "I hate the Bat. But I love you, J.J.," she whispered, kissing his cheek gently.

He nodded slowly. "I love you too, Mommy," he whispered. He forced a smile. "Well…I'd better get ready to kill the Bat! I'll be needing my Sunday best – any idea where my socks are, Mommy?"

Harley grinned. "Your Daddy always needed me to find his socks too," she said, taking his hand. "Let's go check the dryer."

She led him out of the room. J.J. glanced back at the Joker statue, smiling the same smile it always had. Although to J.J., it had never looked more mocking.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce Wayne sat in the Batcave, staring at the images on the computer. They were the photos taken by the police at the discovery of Two-Face and the Penguin's bodies. Bruce selected the writing on the Penguin's forehead and magnified it, then leaned back in his chair. He had known the Joker's handwriting well, and the handwriting on Penguin's forehead was identical.

Or…almost, he thought, realizing that the 'g' was slightly different. The Joker had always made wide loops on his 'g's, but the loop on this 'g' was smaller, more self-contained…a tiny detail nobody but him would have noticed. It was incredibly similar handwriting, but not identical.

Bruce let out a sigh of relief. He had almost been as convinced as everyone else that the Joker had somehow miraculously returned after all these years. But this was clearly just some sort of impersonator, an incredibly convincing impersonator, but not the Joker.

The fact that someone had taken so much trouble in order to impersonate the Joker was actually more disturbing than if he had returned, thought Bruce suddenly. A mind that had studied the Joker that closely to exactly replicate his jokes and his laughter could only be psychotically deranged, as the Joker had been. And the biggest question in Bruce's mind was why. Why would anyone want to bring the Joker back from the dead? Why would anyone want to take revenge for him? The only person who had ever loved him had been Harley Quinn, and this clearly wasn't her, even if she was still alive. It was the why that bothered him more than anything else.

He stood up slowly. Years of crime-fighting had taken their toll on his legs, as well as most of his body. He was no longer the physical specimen he once was, although he was still reasonably fit for his age. But he had long ago passed the Batman mask onto Tim Drake, and now lived a quiet, secluded life alone in Wayne Manor. Alfred had gone to his final rest a few years back, and now there was only Bruce, alone with his thoughts and memories.

He opened another image from long ago, a picture printed in a newspaper of him carrying the Joker's body from the movie theater shortly after his death. Bruce studied the peaceful smile on the Joker's face, smug almost, even in death. He saw the letters of the marquee glowing behind them: _Joker: The Immortal_, they read. The Joker would have appreciated the irony of the image, thought Bruce, with a wry smile.

He shifted to another image further down the newspaper, one of Harley Quinn screaming as she was dragged off by the police. Bruce had never seen such agony in anyone's eyes, such pain and fury and hatred and despair. He remembered the scene so clearly even now, the words she had spat at him, "I'll get you for this, Bats, you hear me?! I'll never rest until you're dead! Never!"

She had tried to kill him after that by blowing up the steel mill with them inside it. He had put a stop to it, with Tim's help, and he remembered the police dragging her off again. She didn't scream at him this time – she just smiled, as if she knew something he didn't and was enjoying the joke. Bruce had always wondered what that joke was. Maybe this was its punchline.

He was distracted from his thoughts as he heard the Batmobile returning, and Tim climbed out. "Bruce," he said, surprised. Bruce rarely came down here anymore – the stairs were difficult for his legs. "What are you doing?"

"Remembering," said Bruce, turning his attention back to the screen. "And thinking."

He closed the pictures and turned back to Tim. "It's not the Joker," he said.

"Who is it?" asked Tim.

"I don't know," replied Bruce. "But it's not him. The handwriting is different."

"Well, that's a…relief?" asked Tim.

"More of a concern," replied Bruce. "I would understand why the Joker would want revenge on Two-Face or the Penguin if he were alive again. But I can't figure out why anyone else would."

"What about his girlfriend? She was a whole lotta crazy, especially at the end."

"Eyewitnesses have reported seeing a man."

"Someone she's hired?" suggested Tim.

"But why wait all this time?" asked Bruce. "Unless…"

He trailed off. He suddenly remembered what he had found in the manager's office of the steel mill, placed carefully underneath one of Harley Quinn's costumes, something that had filled him with horror: a positive pregnancy test. And the realization hit him like a bullet.

"Unless she had his…son," he murmured softly.

Tim looked at him. "She was pregnant?" he asked.

Bruce nodded slowly. "Yes. I believe she was."

Tim was silent. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "The poor kid."

"I'm not going to pity anyone who could do that to Two-Face and Penguin," said Bruce, nodding at the newspapers by the computer.

Tim nodded. "You think…you're gonna be next?"

Bruce sighed heavily. "Neither Joker nor Harley ever knew who I really was," he murmured. "I don't know why their child would have been able to figure it out."

"So you think I'm the one he's gonna be after?" asked Tim. "I am Batman now, after all…"

"Harley will know you're not the same one who she thinks killed the Joker," retorted Bruce. "She wasn't…stupid, you know. Everyone always said she was, but she wasn't."

"Crazy, though," retorted Tim.

"Yes," agreed Bruce. "Yes, she was that."

He sighed again. "I don't know what to do, Tim," he said. "It's no good telling you to be careful – I know you are anyway. But I just don't know what this guy is planning, or who he's planning it against. It would be a relief if it was the Joker, actually – then at least I would know how he thinks."

"Obviously pretty similarly," said Tim. "The way those two died could've been straight outta the Joker's gag book."

Bruce said nothing. "You're right," he said, quietly. "I guess you can feel sorry for that kid. He's probably been brought up in hatred and revenge, and those do things to your mind after awhile, as well as your soul. I know what it's like to want revenge for the death of your parents…"

"Justice is what you wanted, Bruce," interrupted Tim. "And you got it."

"Maybe that's how Harley sees it," murmured Bruce. "Maybe she's taught him to see it as justice. A life for a life."

He looked at Tim. "No matter what happens to me…I don't want you to put yourself in any danger over this. Batman has to survive in one form or another. And that's who you are now."

He turned toward the stairs. "Bruce!" called Tim. He turned back.

"I do feel sorry for the kid," he said. "Because I know what's it like to have to live up to someone extraordinary. It's a hard thing to ask any child to do. I'm just grateful my predecessor is someone I can be proud of."

Bruce nodded gratefully and then climbed the stairs slowly back to the manor. He went into his study, where the portrait of his parents still hung. He shut the door and then turned to face the portrait, and suddenly started back in horror when he saw that big, red smiles had been painted onto their faces.

"Horrible, isn't it?" said a voice. "A great, big, mocking grin smiling down at you, day after day. Enough to drive anyone crazy."

Laughter sounded from somewhere in the shadows, laughter Bruce recognized. "I know it's not you," he murmured. "The Joker's dead. You're his son."

"Very good, Brucie," chuckled the voice, as a figure stepped into the moonlight. "You're more astute than the Penguin was, despite being blind as a bat!"

He laughed again. "How did you figure out who I am?" asked Bruce.

"Oh, it was very simple really, Brucie," said J.J., grinning. "A lotta people were sent into Arkham City, and a lotta them didn't survive the experience. And one of the ones everybody pegged as a goner from the moment he arrived was Bruce Wayne. Now, Pengers had Bruce Wayne at his mercy, but then he escaped, and took Penguin and several of his gang out with him. Unusual for a playboy billionaire who never fought a day in life, doncha think? But there's more. After all the bombing and the fighting, Bruce Wayne emerges from Arkham City, miraculously unscathed. Now, was he just lucky that nobody beat the crap outta him or tried to kill him, a big, rich celebrity like him? Or was he disguised so people didn't recognize him? Maybe with a mask. And once you get that suspicion in your head, Brucie, everything begins to make sense. The fancy gadgets, the nice car, the expensive suit, all paid for by Daddy's money. Obvious when you think about it."

He chuckled. "Surprised dear old Dad didn't figure it out himself, really. Maybe he wasn't such a genius after all. Or maybe he knew all along, but chose to forget it. Maybe knowing would have ruined the joke. That sounds like something he would do."

He laughed again. "I know Daddy very well, you see, despite never having met him," he murmured. "I could probably recount your battles with him better than you could. But then I blame your age for that – senility tends to rot the memory!"

He giggled. Bruce just stared at him, an almost identical replica of his father, at least in appearance. In laugh, in voice, in manner...but Bruce wasn't quite sure of his soul yet.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, quietly.

"I think you know the answer to that, Brucie," chuckled J.J. "Kill you, obviously. I mean, you're not Batman anymore, but you are the man who killed my father. And you have to pay for that."

He suddenly pulled out a gun and shot him. Bruce choked, but realized that it wasn't a bullet that had embedded itself in his throat. It was a dart.

"Just something to make you sleep, Brucie, while I take you to Mommy," he heard the voice saying. "She wants to savor your agony. She's gonna smile and laugh while you die slowly. And so will I."

Bruce lost consciousness to the sound of the Joker's mocking laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

He opened his eyes to see Harley Quinn, in her usual clown makeup, beaming down at him. "Hi, Batsy!" she exclaimed. "So good to see you again after all these years! Why didn't you write to me? It would have been nice to get a sympathy card from an old friend like you!" she giggled. "But then I guess I ain't really seen you before, not like this," she said, studying him. "Bruce Wayne. Mr. J was right – knowing does kinda spoil the fun," she sighed.

Bruce realized he was in the steel mill somewhere, tied onto a conveyer belt which disappeared into darkness at the far end of the room. It wasn't moving at the moment, and Bruce immediately began looking around for some way out of his situation. His eyes fixed on Harley, dressed in red and black, but not her usual costume.

"Sorry, I can't fit into my leather anymore, but then I have had a kid," said Harley, seeming to read his thoughts. "It kinda ruins your figure. Worth it, though," she murmured, smiling as J.J. appeared beside her. He kissed her cheek and she ruffled his hair fondly. "He's such a good boy. And just like his Daddy, don't you think?"

"On the outside, certainly," agreed Bruce, nodding. "Have you twisted his mind as well as his body, so that he's become as evil as his father on the inside too?"

Harley struck Bruce across the face. "His father was the greatest man who ever lived," she hissed. "And better than you in every way."

"Killing me isn't going to bring him back, Harley," growled Bruce.

"No," agreed Harley, shaking her head. "No, he's dead and gone forever." Her eyes filled with tears, which she hastily wiped away. "Killing you _is_ gonna be a lotta fun, however," she said, smiling again. "And what more can you ask outta life except to have a little fun? That's what Mr. J always believed. And after we take care of you, Bruce, J.J. can accomplish what his Daddy never could," she said, beaming at him. "He can kill the Bat."

Bruce wasn't afraid to face his own death – if this was the end for him, it was as good as any. But he couldn't let Harley and her son continue their mad crusade of vengeance against Tim, who hadn't done anything to them. He looked wildly around for a way out. There was always a way…

"I never got to thank you, Batsy, for carrying Mr. J's body outta Arkham City," said Harley. "I know why you did it – you wanted everybody to see the proof, that the great Joker was finally dead. After I broke outta the nuthouse, I went to the morgue to try to steal his body back. I thought…I thought I could preserve him forever…the way Penguin stuffed people…y'know. So he'd…always be here."

She wiped her eyes. "But when I got there it was too late," she whispered, tearing up again. "They had cremated his body already. They had…burned him…the most beautiful man in the world. His smile should've been preserved forever, but instead his beauty was destroyed in flame, and his perfect body turned to ashes. It's only fair that the same thing happens to you. Only…you ain't gonna be quite so dead as Mr. J was," she murmured.

Bruce suddenly heard the sound of an engine turning on, and then a rumbling. He looked up to see that J.J. had pulled a switch which started the conveyer belt, and the furnace at the end of it.

"I imagine it'll hurt quite a bit," whispered Harley, giggling and clapping her hands in excitement. "The fire's at a pretty low temperature, so it'll start to melt the flesh off your bones slowly. And maybe you'll feel, in your last few agonizing minutes of life, how Mr. J felt. And how I've felt for twenty lonely years," she hissed.

"If you kill me, you'll never know how he died," said Bruce.

"I know how he died," she snapped. "You killed him."

He shook his head. "He killed himself," he retorted.

"You're a liar!" she hissed. "Mr. J would never have done anything like that! He was gonna live forever! He was gonna be Joker: the Immortal! Why would he kill himself?!"

"I don't know," retorted Batman. "I just know that he did."

Harley glared at him, and then said, "J.J., turn off the conveyer belt."

J.J. obeyed and came back over to them. "All right, Bats, talk," hissed Harley. "You tell me how he died, and I'll see if I believe you. I think you're lying, and you go in the furnace. I think you're telling the truth, and I'll let J.J. shoot you in the head instead."

"I…had the cure in my hand," said Bruce. "He said…that he knew I'd use it to save him. Because I always did. Because I didn't kill. Because even after all he'd done, I couldn't let him die. And I…I hesitated. I said that if I did save him, he would just bring death and misery to others, as he always had. And then he said…'Think of it as a running gag!' and stabbed me in the arm holding the cure. I dropped it and the vial shattered. He tried desperately to lick it up, and then looked up at me with those intense eyes, asking if I was happy now. I told him that…even after everything he had done…I would have saved him. And he said that was pretty funny. He died laughing at the joke."

Tears streamed down Harley's face. "Why…why would he do that?" she gasped. "Why would he kill himself, when he knew you were gonna save him?"

"I've been wondering that for twenty years," murmured Bruce. "I didn't fully understand how his mind worked, even after all the fights and battles…I don't imagine you did either. I don't think anyone could ever truly have understood him except himself. But as I've got older, one theory did spring to mind."

He smiled sadly. "Look at you and me, Harley. Look at Two-Face and Penguin. We've become…old. Even Ra's al Ghul, the immortal, grows old. And when you're old, the game doesn't seem to matter anymore. You play it for so long, and then you stop. The joke's over. The Joker died…while the game was still fun. While the joke was still funny. He knew I'd never kill him, you see. That was why he killed himself. He knew we'd keep playing the game until we were both so old we couldn't play it anymore. And he didn't want that to happen. So he folded his hand and left the game while he was still ahead. He made sure the world remembered him forever as he was at the height of his glory. Joker, the Immortal. Two-Face lost respect as he got older. People are going to remember the three-legged old man, hobbling around with his cane. Same for the Penguin. They're going to remember the frightened, blind, old man still desperately trying to cling onto a fading empire. But the Joker? Well, he'll always be the Joker, won't he? Maybe that was why he was laughing at the end. Maybe that was his final punchline."

"He…he wouldn't have left me and J.J…" stammered Harley. "He wouldn't…he loved me. He would have loved him…"

"Oh, Harley," sighed Bruce. "He never loved anyone but himself."

"Is that true, Mommy?" whispered J.J.

"No, J.J.," she whispered, turning to him. "No, it's not. Your Daddy loved me, he would never have done that to me, killed himself like that, not when he knew how much it would hurt me…"

"If Daddy killed himself, Bruce isn't responsible for his death," murmured J.J. "He tried to save him. We can't kill him, Mommy."

"Baby, he's lying, you know he is," murmured Harley, soothingly. "I've told you all about the Bat and his lies…"

"You've also told me all about Daddy," interrupted J.J. "And that certainly sounds like something Daddy would do. Unless…you've been lying to me, Mommy. You…you didn't tell me Daddy used to hit you. Harvey had to tell me that. A man who hit you couldn't have loved you, Mommy. A man who hit you wouldn't have cared how you felt if he died…"

"J.J., you didn't know him…"

"I know him better than anyone else in this room!" shouted J.J. "I've had to spend every second of my life trying to be him, Mommy! I know the way he acts and thinks, I know his jokes, I know his sick, twisted mind inside and out! He probably thought about how much his death would hurt you, and that's why he was laughing at the end, Mommy! He probably thought your pain was quite the joke!"

"J.J., you can't talk about your Daddy like that," whispered Harley, tears in her eyes. "He wasn't cruel like that, not to me…"

"He hit you!" J.J. shrieked. "He was a monster, Mommy! A horrible, evil monster!"

Harley gazed at him with tears streaming down her face. "J.J.," she gasped. "J.J., you can't…talk that way about him. Please don't…"

She broke off sobbing, and he instantly rushed over to her, clutching her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he gasped. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Please don't cry. Please. I love you, Mommy. I love you," he whispered, kissing her face repeatedly.

"J.J.," she whispered, gazing at him. "J.J., you have to do something for Mommy."

"Anything, Mommy, I promise," he said, continuing to kiss her. "I'll kill Bruce, I'll kill the Bat, I'll kill anyone, only please don't cry anymore."

She nodded, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his gun. She placed it in his hands and then stepped back. "Kill me, J.J.," she whispered.

He stared at her, horrified. "No," he gasped. "No, Mommy, please, you can't ask me to do this…"

"I failed your Daddy," she whispered. "It's my fault he died. I had the cure that would have saved him in my hands and that…bitch took it from me," she gasped, shutting her eyes tightly. "I was meant to bring it back to your Daddy, and I…failed. Your Daddy didn't accept failure from anyone, not even from me. I should have died a long time ago, only…I wanted to make it up to your Daddy. I wanted to get revenge for him by having his son, and raising him so that he loved his Daddy as much as I did. And…I failed your Daddy in that too," she whispered, gazing at J.J. with tears in her eyes. "You don't love him. I think you must hate him, deep down, only I don't know why. I don't know what I've done wrong – I only know I gotta die for it."

"Mommy, Mommy, please," whispered J.J. "Please, please, don't make me do this…I can't do it…I…I do love Daddy, I do! You didn't fail him at all…"

She put a hand to his lips. "I did," she murmured. "I know the truth. And I gotta die for it. You gotta kill me. You're the only one who can, J.J. – Bruce doesn't kill people, even as an act of mercy. And this is an act of mercy, J.J. I've been in agony for twenty years…"

"I'll make it better, Mommy," whispered J.J. "I'll do anything to make you happy…I'll be Daddy, I'll be just like him in every way, and you can pretend I am him! We can do everything you used to do together, and that'll make everything better, won't it?"

"You would do that for me, J.J.?" she whispered. "You would become your Daddy?"

"Yes, Mommy, I swear it!" he gasped. "Just please…please don't make me do this!"

She nodded. "Your Daddy would have killed me if I asked him to. And he would have laughed as he did it." She gazed into his eyes. "Be your Daddy, J.J."

"No!" sobbed J.J. "No, Mommy, please! Please! You can't ask me to…"

"Your Daddy wouldn't cry," she whispered. "And he wouldn't beg. If you love me like he did, you'll do this for me."

She smiled, holding open her arms. "C'mon, baby," she whispered. "Become your Daddy. For me."

J.J. was sobbing as he gazed at her, and then shut his eyes. "I love you, Mommy," he gasped. And then he pulled the trigger. The bullet embedded itself in her stomach and she gasped at the sudden pain. J.J. fired again and again, choking out fake laughter, until she slumped to the ground. He caught her as she fell.

"Why…why did you make me do it, Mommy?" he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks as he stroked her hair back from her face.

She was breathing heavily, but smiling. "Oh, baby," she whispered. "I failed your Daddy, so I had to die. I couldn't let you fail him too, y'see. And…you haven't. He would be so proud of you. You're…just like him now. Just…like him," she whispered, raising a hand to his face. She smiled. "Every day for twenty long years, I wished the Joker would return," she whispered. "And I'm so happy because…now, he has. I love you…puddin'," she gasped. And then her hand dropped and her eyes shut forever.

J.J. stared at her body, crying softly. "No," he gasped. "No! No, Mommy, please come back to me! Please! Come back!"

He cradled her lifeless body gently in his arm, sobbing in agony. Bruce's heart broke to hear it.

It sank as he suddenly heard another sound. The sobbing abruptly turned into laughter, hysterical, maniacal laughter. Bruce saw J.J. straighten up, dropping Harley's body to the ground and kicking it. "She always was a useless waste of space, eh, Batsy?" he chuckled, turning to face him. Bruce saw insanity shining in his eyes, his eyes so like his father's now…

He launched into another burst of hysterical laughter. "Quite…quite the gag though, isn't it?" he gasped, grinning at him. "Taking out two people with one bullet? This thing here killed both Harley and J.J.," he chuckled, picking up the gun. "It's funny when you think about it, really, isn't it, Bats? And should we let the same gun take out the Bat as well?" he asked, approaching him. "It seems fitting."

J.J. pressed the gun against his temple, and Bruce looked back at him calmly. J.J. grinned, and then suddenly pulled the gun away. "No. No, much funnier to keep you alive, Brucie. I couldn't kill you, not after all we've been through together. I need you. And it's much more amusing to think about you slowly decaying over time, rotting away, your mind and spirit slowly breaking. Y'see, I never had to suffer that, Batsy. I had an escape clause. And you know what's really funny?" he asked, laughing again. "I am actually immortal! Cause you know what they say, doncha, Batsy?" he laughed. "You achieve immortality through your children!"

He laughed again, the Joker's laugh, insane and maniacal. "See ya around, Batsy!" he chuckled. And then he was gone, leaving Bruce alone in the steel mill.

That's where Tim found him later, along with Harley's body. "And…her son?" he asked, untying him.

"The Joker? Got away," said Bruce. "But he'll be back. The Joker always comes back."

"The Joker?" repeated Tim. "Her kid is…"

"The Joker," insisted Bruce. "I've finally got the joke, you see."

"What joke?" asked Tim.

"You remember what it said on the marquee? Joker: The Immortal? It was never about the cure, or the Lazarus pit. It was about finding immortality in your offspring. His real immortality was already inside Harley, and he knew it. He knew she'd raise the kid in his image, to be exactly like him. To _be_ him, only with all the time he didn't have left. That was his last gag, and it was a good one."

He looked out the window at the city of Gotham, twinkling in the night. "He is the Joker now," he murmured. "He's back. And he's going to cause just as much havoc and mayhem as he always does."

Tim put a hand on his shoulder. "Then it's a good thing Batman will always be here to stop him," he murmured.

Bruce nodded, clasping his hand tightly. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, it is."


	8. Chapter 8

A dark shape landed on the roof of the Ace Chemicals building, where a figure dressed in purple stood, calmly smoking a cigar.

"I've been expecting you," he murmured to the black shape.

"Is that why you unleashed Joker toxin on the people inside?" demanded the black shape. "To get me to come here?"

The figure in purple shrugged. "How else was I supposed to do it? You're such a busy guy – killing hundreds of innocent people is the only way to get your attention. And I had to meet you here, where it all began. Seems fitting somehow."

He inhaled from the cigar, smiling at him. The black shape glared at him. "We don't have to do this, you know," he murmured quietly. "We're not them. We don't have to keep playing their game…"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, Batsy," he interrupted. "Playing the game is the one thing we do have to keep doing. Oh, we can change the rules a bit – maybe you're not the strong, silent type as much as your predecessor was. Maybe I ain't got a worthless dame dragging me down, like my predecessor did. Maybe I won't hurt you in quite the same ways – maybe you won't fight me in quite the same style. But we gotta keep playing the game. Otherwise what's the point? A joke with no punchline is a pretty anticlimactic thing."

He inhaled from his cigar again. "Our lives don't have to be jokes…" began the black shape.

"Everything's a joke, Batsy," murmured the figure in purple. "Everything and everyone. Life, death, love, hate, war, and peace. Everything people believe in. Just one, big, cruel joke."

The black shape was silent. "I know you've been hurt, J.J…"

"It's the Joker," he interrupted. "I'm the Joker. And you're Batman."

"You were J.J., the Joker's son. Harley Quinn's son…"

"I don't remember any of my past since the accident, I'm afraid," chuckled the figure in purple. "You know that, Batsy. So there's no point in talking about it, or trying to get me to remember. It'll only make me angry."

He puffed out smoke. "The accident which was your fault," he murmured. "You've always been responsible for me. And that hasn't changed, even if you do think we're different people. We're not. Some things don't change. And we don't change, Batsy."

He laughed. "Kinda comforting, in a way, isn't it? There'll always be a Joker terrorizing Gotham City. And there'll always be a Batman to put a smile on his face."

The black shape was silent. "I'll tell you what isn't funny," he murmured at last. "Living our lives exactly like our predecessors did – wasting our time simply repeating their endless cycle, not being able to change or break outta it…"

"Think of it as a running gag," chuckled the figure in purple. "An oldie but goodie. I'm sorry you don't enjoy the joke, but it's a classic. Can't just dismiss it."

"I don't want to end up like Bruce," whispered the black shape. "I've seen what his life has done to him – he's alone and broken. I admire Bruce so much. He's the most determined and resolute man I know. But he's taught me through his life that sometimes you can't always be right. Sometimes you have to be willing to listen, to talk, to compromise, not just to fight on and on, or there'll be nothing left to fight for. You'll lose everything you tried to save."

He stepped forward. "I don't want to fight you night after night. I want to help you, J.J. I want us to be better than our predecessors were. We can change things for the better, if only you'll be willing to let things change."

The figure in purple smiled. "Oh, Bats," he sighed. "Same old herospeak, just translated for a new generation. The hero of Bruce's time was a man who resolved to fight, no matter what. The heroes of our time are people who try to listen, and find non-violent solutions to problems. Who try to understand those they considered to be evil and deranged, who try to be merciful, civilized, humane."

He grinned. "Suckers!" he chuckled. "Oh, if this the way you're gonna be fighting me, Bats, winning's gonna be too easy! You've told me what you believe, but you're as blind as a bat when you get right down to it."

He giggled, finishing his cigar and crushing it on the ground. "Y'see, the thing you people don't understand is that nothing important ever changes. Oh, you can try looking at things differently, interpreting them in different ways, but that doesn't mean they are any different. That doesn't mean the truth changes. And the truth, Bats, is that it doesn't matter what you and I want. Do you think I wanted to be the Joker? Do you think that was a choice I made? It wasn't. It was something I was destined to be long before I was born. And you can't escape your destiny – it's like truth, fixed and unchanging. You may not wanna live your life fighting me night after night, but you're gonna. Because what we want doesn't matter. What we believe doesn't matter. Only the truth matters. The truth is I'm the Joker, and you're Batman. And that's what we do. We fight, night after night. Neither of us can escape that, no matter what we want."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a coin. "Two-Face gave this to me," he murmured. "He said it was life. You got a good side and a bad side. You're the good side, and I'm the bad side. Joined together on one coin forever. Can't separate it, can't fix it, can't change it. You can flip it," he said, tossing it into the air. "Sometimes one side will come out on top, sometimes the other. But the coin is real. It's the truth. You can't wish it away, or wish it was different. You can look at it in different ways, but that doesn't mean the coin changes. It just is. Just like you and me."

He caught the coin and smiled. "Looks like tonight's your night, buddy," he said, holding out the good side to him. "But that don't mean I ain't gonna put up a good fight. That's all we got, after all. And that's all either of us is ever gonna have."

He suddenly struck the black shape a powerful blow across the face. He continued to punch him, and the black shape fought back. They punched and kicked and hit each other across the rooftop, until at last the black shape threw the figure in purple to the ground, where he lay, winded. He laughed hysterically.

"Told you it was your night, buddy!" he chuckled. "Now see, if we were playing by the same rules, you'd probably drag me off to some asylum now."

"I will," growled the black shape.

The figure in purple giggled madly. "Change of plans," he whispered, grinning at him through bloodied teeth. "Well, what do ya expect with a Joker in the deck?"

And he suddenly sprayed a cloud of Joker toxin from the flower in his buttonhole into the black shape's face. The black shape coughed and started laughing, reaching for the antidote on his belt. By the time he had applied it and recovered himself, the figure in purple was gone. He heard the echo of his maniacal laughter in his ears, and his fist tightened in resolution, even as his heart sank in despair.

"We will meet again, Joker," murmured Batman.

**The End**


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